A Trip to the Devil’s Workshop

I click the red button, effectively ending all the misery I am supposed to be enduring but don’t have the will to. I expect the action to provide me with a rush; a little adrenaline shot of doing something I shouldn’t. I will for the guilt, anxiety, and a teeny tiny droplet of pride fill me. It doesn’t. Nothing ever did anymore. Skipping classes at this point in my life shouldn’t have to be the most daring thing I can possibly do. The strapping, caped image of myself in my subconscious crumples to dust along with my remaining attention span.

I spare one last wary glance at the assignments behind the digital 13” wall. Some pending, most overdue, and the saddest of all — the finished ones that didn’t quite matter anymore. I click another red button, this one shutting down the only college life I’ve known so far.

There’s just one thing left to do. One place left to go.

The Shop seems bigger than I last remember. More paraphernalia adorns the shelves, cluttered, spilling over the edges, used. Appliances hiss and chant the more I move into this workspace. Time moved faster whenever I visited. The seconds merged with the minutes combined with the hours until I lost my way and had to be led out like a toddler at a park. I slide a finger over the smooth walls. Trinkets and tchotchkes act as unnecessary speed bumps. But that’s just it, those aren’t mere decorative items that one marvels over. They had a purpose, a meaning to it, their owner isn’t one to store illogical souvenirs.

Vil pops a red head from above the reasonably sized device that has its body opened on a work table. I shrink into myself when I come into view. Enough time hasn’t passed since my previous visit. A visit, just like all the others, that should’ve been my last. That worked out so well.

“Nice to see you here,” Vil says, genuine homely tones wafting along with the words. I make a note to notice the horns protruding from Vil’s temples from now on. I could swear they weren’t this sharp the last time.

“Where else would I go? Not like I have anything to do.” I tip my chin to the open surgery happening in front. “Something new?”

“Same old. I didn’t expect to see you so soon.” Vil wipes already wiped and perfect spectacles before returning them back to their resting place: over the head, behind the horns. Perhaps one of the only knick-knacks in this hell house that didn’t have a use. I’ve never once seen Vil use it.

“Neither did I.” I heave a huge, pointless sigh and plant myself face down on the couch, fitting myself among the cushions. Another something that wasn’t present on my last visit. How much did Vil even expand?

“So what’s on your mind?” the devil in my head asks.

“Nothing, that’s the whole reason I’m here.”

“Then, busy yourself with something.”

I sneak a peek at Vil. I’m greeted with tips of horns from behind the device…that got bigger?

“Open for suggestions,” I say.

“I don’t know, go to the confession page or something.”

I roll my eyes. Vil’s disinterest couldn’t have been more subtle. “Nothing interesting.”

“Then make it interesting. Talk shit about someone, spill some tea, create gossip, no one’s gonna know it’s you, anyway.”

I see Vil’s eyes staring at me, a certain gleam in them that should’ve left me on my toes. “Nah.” I wave the suggestion away. “Done way too much already. Everyone knows that whole concept is for lifeless folk trying to force life into themselves.”

“Attend your classes.”

“Wow, I expected more fr — ”

“And mute the professor.” The signature devilish smile appears on Vil’s red face.

“And join the hopeless, appalling, feet-for-brains gang of degenerates? No, thank you, I’d rather stuff a duck down my throat.”

“Says the one who spat orange juice from their nostrils the first time it happened.”

“We all have a degenerate living inside of us.”

Vil, having stopped work on the mysterious new device, sits opposite me on an armchair. An armchair that I would’ve bet my left kidney wasn’t there two seconds ago. A pensive look — combined with the cliched posture of folded hands resting against lips — took over Vil.

“You are an atrocious complainer of everything,” Vil says.

“How nice.” I make a face.

“Start up a blog and complain.”

“I’m not that sad in life.”

“You have no life.”

“C’mon, tha — ”

“All you do is waste time.”

“Look — ”

“Your GPA isn’t even yours.”

“Ouch.”

“You have a lot to complain about. Do it.”

“Hey, that’s actually not bad. It could be relatable to a couple of peeps. Might even be productive.” I sit up feeling a spark of energy for the first time in days. “See ya, Vil.”

“On the other hand — ” Vil pushes me back down, and begins pacing in the space between the couch and armchair “ — you have a boring life and nothing that extraordinary to write that a hundred other people aren’t already yapping about. Hmm…”

And just like that, the spark fizzles away. I let my head seek comfort in my hands while it hangs low.

A snap of fingers makes me look up.

“How about…” Vil drags the words and makes sure I hang on to every last syllable. “Your university isn’t doing anything to call you back, you’re bound to be pissed.”

“It’s not like there’s a point going back there. Everyone’s sitting, twiddling their toes, and counting off the insects in their meals.”

“Why not start a page bashing them for all that they’re doing…or more like not doing.”

“Oh c’mon, give them a break. I’m pretty sure, they’re doing their best.”

Vil in true Vil fashion pays no heed to what I said. “You have a campus media body, right? Drag them through the mud too. People are rotting at home and they post lame photoshopped, elementary graphs.”

I say nothing.

A hoarse voice speaks into my ear. “What are you waiting for?”

“Jesu — STOP. Devil, stop whispering over my shoulder.”

Vil shrugs and goes back to the carcass of whatever on the workstation, this time with a wrench in hand.

“All you do is give ideas that are potentially going to ruin whatever I have left of my nearly non-existent pride. I’m smart. I’m a hard worker. I reached where I am with my blood, sweat and tears. Of course, I’m worth more than this. I’m capable of doing things. Great things…Vil? Are you even listening to me?”

“Huh? Yeah, yeah, non-existent pride. Right there with you.”

“What even is that?”

“This?” Vil gestures towards the device like it’s worth more than diamonds. “This is probably the best thing I’ve ever invented. This little baby is going to help me expand my workshop. Less effort, more output.”

“Expand? You want to expand even more? Vil, you’ve occupied like a quarter of this whole space. I mean you’ve been around for as long as I have, but you had like what? A desk and shelf for yourself. Isn’t this too much?”

“Hey, look around you. This is all for you. I’ve been keeping you company a lot these days. It’s all your doing, you know. The more you visit, the more I want to be there for you, so I keep thinking of new ideas for it. And obviously, to accommodate bigger ideas, you need to have a wider space. Besides, all this expansion is just to make sure I keep doing that for you.”

“I-I’m not so sure about that.”

“Chill out and relax. Take a nap on the couch if you want. I’m almost done with this.”

Yes, chill. A chill up my spine. I shuddered at the thought of Vil taking up most of the space. Space that was once dedicated to a lot of other ventures. Most of which have shut down or taken a break. The thought of a huge, cursive, lit up Devil’s Workshop replacing the old handwritten board didn’t bring me much comfort. As much as I liked Vil’s company, I never once had the notion of giving more thought to it.

I need some air.

“Okay then, I’ll see you later.” I wave goodbye and hope that I won’t be visiting anytime soon. Banning myself from visiting Vil from the immediate next moment is as good as starving myself. It isn’t possible or viable, but with time, I can manage it. I have to.

I look at my closed laptop, the empty pages on my register, the numerous crumpled wrappers that replaced my thick textbooks from school days, the filled up and postered wall, a calendar with crossed out dates — multiple failed countdowns to the day I’d start living the life I envisioned. I listen to the creak of my chair when I move, the slow whir of the overhead fan, the soft whooshes of the wind outside, the gargles of the news channel from outside my room mentioning reports of an extension in the lockdown. It all reminds me of the very reason why I started frequenting Vil in the first place.

I close my eyes.

I’m back at the Devil’s Workshop.